Sweat sweat sweat

So here's a slice of life at the glass plant . . .

Sitting in my office chair, catching up on a blog after helping with the waist cooler swap-out. The green jacket is off, the yellow sleeves are off, the heat hood is off, and still the drops keep rolling, rolling down. Head, back, arms.. it's like I jumped into a swimming pool.
I have to watch where I rest my elbows as I type this, 'cause my shirt'll soak any papers on my desk. In fact, I just moved the stria print-out, which is considerably.. eh.. softer, than when Steve dropped it off this morning. The knees of my green pants are soaked through, and goodness knows how saturated the jeans are underneath them.
But still, when you're standing in front of the big hole looking in at the pool of syrupy glass, you wish for more layers, as the heat marches through the fabric and smacks you.

Let's just say that work is the only place I've ever actually used Gatorade for its intended purpose.

--Clear Ambassador